


Help from a Devil

by Onehelluvapilot



Series: Friendly Neighborhood Team Red [1]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Blood and Injury, Caring, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Injury, Protective Matt Murdock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-14 03:04:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17500352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onehelluvapilot/pseuds/Onehelluvapilot
Summary: Matt and Foggy are working late on some case or another when they're interrupted by a certain wallcrawler with bad luck and bad timing.





	Help from a Devil

Nelson and Murdock are working late. They’re at Matt's apartment, as electricity is included in his already cheap rent, and they literally can’t afford to keep the lights on at their office. Busting Fisk was a huge win, but a few months later they’re back to being paid in chickens and fresh fruit for the long hours.

“Did you finish the brief yet?” One of the lawyers asks, setting his pamphlet down on the table and leaning back into his chair.

“I read faster than you, Foggy.”

“Yeah, well, it isn't like I can look over and see if you're finished.”

“Neither can-” Matt starts, but then pauses, tilting his head so one ear was aimed towards the ceiling. 

“You hear something?”

“Footsteps, on the roof. Stay here.” Matt stands up, grabbing his white tipped Billy club from where it leans on the end of the couch, and walks carefully towards the stairs. The door swings open before he reaches the bottom step.

“Yo, relax, just me,” Spiderman says, identifying himself and raising his hands just in time to stop Daredevil from chucking the Billy club at his masked face. “Friendly neighborhood idiot dropping by.” The smell of blood is clear on him and his breathing is all screwed up, punctuated by winces.

“Spiderman?!” Foggy blurts out from where he’s standing back by the couch.

“Oh, yikes, company. Sorry Mr. Murdock, didn’t mean to interrupt date night.”

“He’s my business partner,” Matt sighs. “Parker, how many times have I told you to knock first?”

“Hey man, mind the secret identity,” the kid points out, but he must figure that it’s safe to unmask because he reaches up with his left arm, the one not cradled against his chest, and yanks off the cut up and bloody piece of fabric.

“You mean the identity you very well could have ruined by barging in here without warning? Both of our identities, I might add.”

“Sorry,” he says with a wince.

“Don’t be sorry, be better,” Daredevil admonishes. “Foggy, could you go get the first aid kit and a couple of towels from the bathroom?”

“Uh yeah, sure,” the rather shocked attorney agrees, glad to be given something to do. Learning his blind best friend was spending his nights beating up bad guys and getting beat up himself was one thing. He’s come to terms, more or less, with the fact that Matt is an adult and if he wants to die young that’s his prerogative. But Spiderman, this Parker kid halfway drenched in blood standing at the top of the stairs with hair tousled from his mask, can’t be older than seventeen. He’d known the web-slinging superhero was young (it was obvious from the way he moved and spoke in the videos of him and in person) but he hadn’t imagined that it would be a highschool student. It made it all seem more questionable, somehow. 

“I take it that means I can come in?” Spiderman asks hesitantly. Matt nods. Peter really hopes that Matt won’t notice the bloodstains he’s leaving on the wall as he leans against it.

“What happened?” Matt asks. He’s waiting at the bottom of the steps, and offers out an arm to Spidey when he gets to him.

“Gun runners, got a little out of hand.” He waves off the offered hand, reaching for the back of a chair instead. Matt must decide there’s enough blood in his apartment already and intercepts him, pulling his arm around the older man’s shoulders.

“Why didn’t you call if you needed backup?” Foggy has emerged from the bathroom, and Matt waves a hand over to the couch to indicate he should lay out a towel. Just because Matt can’t see the stains doesn’t mean he isn’t careful about the blood getting everywhere.

“I’m trying to become an Avenger. How am I gonna prove myself to them if I can’t even handle a small gang by myself?”

“Being an avenger isn’t about what you can or cannot handle by yourself. Look at Hawkeye, for example. He can’t do half of what you do, and yet he’s a valuable member of the team.”

“Are you really the one to be lecturing me about teamwork?” Peter points out as Matt lowers him to the couch. “Or recklessness, for that matter. I mean, your name is literally Daredevil. You took down Kingpin by yourself.”

“I know I’m not the best example,” Matt admits, crouching by the table and opening up the well-stocked first aid kit. “Which is why, if you want to be an avenger, you have to be better. What hurts?”

“You're not gonna call your nurse friend?”

“Claire is out of town. You picked a helluva time to get your ass handed to you.”

“Great. Right shoulder dislocated, stab under my lowest left rib, maybe concussion. I don’t know, head injuries aren’t the easiest to diagnose yourself.”

“Okay. You're gonna keep pressure here,” Matt ordered, covering the hole in his suit and stomach with a washcloth and then pulling Peter’s left hand over it. “And I'm gonna pop your shoulder back into its socket. Don't scream; I have thin walls.”

“I guess you should kn-ah!” He’s too startled to more than gasp when Daredevil shoves his shoulder back into place with no warning. “Oh man.” He sags a little deeper into the couch.

“Adrenaline’s wearing off,” Matt comments. He can probably smell it, Peter supposes.

“Yeah, I noticed, thanks.” He lets his head fall all the way back against the back of the couch. “I think I'm gonna pass out here if you don't mind.”

“Yeah, go ahead kid.” It’ll be easier to patch him up if he isn't wincing each time the needle goes through.

“Wait a second, didn't he say concussion?” Foggy interjects. He’s hovering awkwardly by the edge of the carpet, feeling like he should be helping but completely out of his depth. “Aren't you not supposed to sleep on those?”

“Urban myth. Actually helps them heal faster. You just have to make sure they wake up every hour or so and that their mental state isn't deteriorating. Which might be hard to tell with this idiot.”

“Hey…” Peter protests, but it's weak.

“Anyway, he's got accelerated healing abilities. Probably be good as new in the morning, lucky bastard.” Matt waits silently for a minute until his heartbeat slows and shows that he's under before getting to work efficiently patching up the stab wound in his side.

“He asleep?” Foggy asks quietly.

“Yeah.”

“Is this a normal occurrence? Spider-Man passed out on your couch?”

“Not too common, thankfully, but not unheard of. He stops by sometimes to wash off the blood and change into his normal clothes before taking the subway home. Occasionally he’ll take a nap here. When he’s injured though, he usually goes straight to Claire. I really need to get Melvin to make him a suit that’ll protect him better.”

“How long have you known him?”

“As Spider-Man, about a year. About half that for Peter.”

“How old is he?” Foggy asks. Matt knows he's looking at the kid’s face, the probably youthful features to match his young voice and movements and scent.

“I don't know exactly. Never asked. He's mentioned graduation a few times. From high school, not college.”

“Jesus. What is the world coming to Matt, if we need children and blind men to protect us?”

“I don't know, Foggy,” the vigilante sighs. “Nothing good.” They sit silently for a minute, and Matt can almost hear the thoughts rattling around in his partner’s head.

“Well, for now it still needs lawyers too,” he finally says as he begins gathering up his papers. “Will you be coming in tomorrow?”

“Yeah. I’ll call if something comes up and I can’t.”

“Alright. Want me to turn off the light on my way out?” The blind superhero turned nurse nods. “Alright. Goodnight Matt.”

“G’night Foggy.” He listens to the faint buzzing of the lights disappear and the click of each tumbler of the lock falling into place. He starts to stand up and clean things up, from his Braille reader to the medical supplies. Peter is sleeping soundly, judging by his heart rate and breathing. Every once in awhile a shiver zips down his spine. Matt grabs the comforter from his room, and a pillow. He gently shifts the kid to lying down across the couch, though his feet stick off the end, and pulls the blanket up under his chin. “Goodnight, Peter.”

**Author's Note:**

> Love feedback


End file.
